


lit up

by kitseybarbours



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, this is Horrifically Soft™
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 05:32:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9057802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitseybarbours/pseuds/kitseybarbours
Summary: Written for Hazel_Inle as part of the Very Merry Kylux Christmas exchange! The prompt was the weed-and-foreheads scene from This Is Where I Leave You, but it'll still make sense if you haven't seen the film. Hope you enjoy, and Merry Christmas :)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hazel_Inle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hazel_Inle/gifts).



> Written for [Hazel_Inle](http://hazel-inle.tumblr.com/) as part of the Very Merry Kylux Christmas exchange! The prompt was the weed-and-foreheads scene from [This Is Where I Leave You](http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1371150/), but it'll still make sense if you haven't seen the film. Hope you enjoy, and Merry Christmas :)

*

“You two just hang tight while I’m at my meeting, all right? You know the drill. Do some homework or something. Stay out of trouble.”

Mrs. Leia Organa, widely acknowledged as the best (and coolest) history teacher in the district, smiles at her teenaged son and his best friend. All three are standing outside her classroom; the last bell of the day rang barely fifteen minutes ago, but the hallways are already deserted, the school a ghost town.

“We will,” Ben Organa-Solo promises, smiling back at his mother.

“As usual,” Brendon Hux adds, almost cheekily. He exchanges a glance with Ben that is…too innocent, Leia thinks; but she _really_ has to get to her meeting. She doesn’t have time to decipher the meaning of the looks fifteen-year-old boys give each other when they’re about to be left without supervision for an indefinite length of time.

Leia nods. “All right,” she says, peremptorily accepting that they’re not going to do homework, and just hoping they don’t do anything too stupid instead. “I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you in at least an hour; Hux, tell your father I’m sorry if I’m late getting you home.”

She goes up on her tip-toes to kiss Ben goodbye: her son has shot up over the past year and now towers a full foot over her. Hux, his best friend of three years, is still slight and small, closer to Leia’s height than her son’s.

Ben kisses her back quickly, looking embarrassed. “Bye, Mom. Have fun at your meeting.”

“Goodbye, Mrs. Organa,” Hux adds. “Thank you in advance for the ride home.” He waves.

“You’re welcome, Hux. Be good, you two.”

“We will!”

With a last wave, she’s gone down the hall to the meeting room: a stack of files tucked neatly under her arm, practical heels clicking on the linoleum. Once she’s disappeared round the corner, her son and his best friend turn to each other. “Ready?” Ben asks.

“Ready.”

They go inside Leia’s classroom (lavishly decorated with vintage world maps, students’ projects, and posters of historical figures: one entire wall is dedicated to _The Fabulous Forgotten Women of History,_ featuring the likes of Doña Marina, Glückel of Hameln, and Cecilia Payne-Gaposchkin) _,_ and shut the door behind them. They spring into action at once, aware that they don’t have much time.

“Windows,” Hux says, and together they go to the back wall and push one open, letting the cold breath of October inside. Ben shivers.

“This is gonna be a lot harder to do when winter hits,” he comments. He thinks for a second. “Be totally worth it, though.”

Hux nods his agreement. “You’ve got it?” he asks.

Ben nods. He drops his backpack and kneels to open it, rooting through it in search of…

“Aha,” he says, cracking a crooked grin when he pulls out a tiny plastic baggie of weed. “You brought papers?”

(They divvy-up like this all the time — one bringing the drugs, one bringing the accessories — so that they’ll be more likely to _both_ get in trouble if they’re ever caught. “It’s only fair,” Ben had mused, nodding solemnly, when they’d devised the plan; “Diplomatic, like,” Hux had agreed. They were both _very_ high at the time, but it still seemed like a pretty good idea when they were sober again, so it stuck.)

Hux nods. He digs through his bag for his AP English notebook, and flips it open to a seemingly random spot in the middle; then he flicks for a few more pages, until all of a sudden three or four rolling papers appear, pressed neatly inside the book and not even creating a bump. You’d never know they were there.

“Got ‘em,” he announces.

“Dude,” Ben says, impressed. “You’re like a spy or something.”

“I do my best.”

Hux lays a paper out on the nearest desk, and motions for Ben to dole out the weed. He lays a Kleenex on the table — “Poor man’s ashtray”, Hux dubbed it once — and Ben rolls the (slim) joint up carefully, seals it, and then passes it with ceremony to Hux.

Hux takes out his lighter (and this one _is_ his, it doesn’t rotate between them — Ben’s dad quit smoking and can’t stand to see anything to do with it in the house; Hux’s dad, however, barely notices if _Hux_ is in the house). Holding the blunt between his pale, nervous fingers, he lights it with care, and then passes it to Ben so he can take the first hit.

Ben inhales. His face only scrunches up a little, this time, and his throat only feels a little bit awful. He’s getting there. He nods, trying to look unaffected and cool: “Good shit,” he pronounces, although he wouldn’t really know if it was or not. He passes it to Hux.

Hux takes a puff, and keeps a better poker-face than Ben, although he, too, still hates the taste. He nods, tapping the ash onto the Kleenex. “Nice.”

Ben sits down on the desk behind him, long legs still touching the floor. He pulls out the chair from the desk in front and rests his too-big feet in their battered Converse high-tops on that.

Hux grabs a chair from the next desk over and spins it around so it’s backwards, sits on it that way. There’s a slight air of self-consciousness about it, like he knows he’s doing it just to look cooler. He passes the already-dwindling joint back to Ben and clasps his sweater-clad arms around the back of the chair. “How was your day?” he asks.

Ben shrugs, inhaling. “Okay,” he says, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “Failed a chem test. Wasn’t allowed to sit out in P.E. again; I think my mom talked to Coach Antilles.” He gives a little sigh, picking at the chipped black polish on his short, ragged nails. “But y’know. It’s fine. How was yours?”

Hux shrugs, too. “Fine,” he says carefully. Ben passes him the blunt; he doesn’t take a hit yet. “I did okay on the English essay,” he says. By _okay,_ he means he got ninety-eight percent, but he doesn’t want to make Ben feel bad by saying it.

But Ben picks up on the slight reserve in his tone. “How okay?” he asks, teasing lightly.

Hux sighs, ducking his head with an embarrassed smile. “Like…really okay. Like, A-okay.” He takes a hit.

Ben gives him his crooked grin. “That’s awesome,” he tells him sincerely. “That _rocks,_ Hux. I know you were worried about it — your dad’s gonna be happy,” he adds. “Right?”

“Well, I mean.” Hux gestures vaguely, awkward. “Probably not. But, like, most dads would be, so I guess that counts.”

“There you go.” Ben smiles a little.

Even with a window open, the smoke still hangs heavy in the air, and they bat lazily at the cloud to disperse it. Hux kicks his Sperry-clad feet back and forth on the floor, the rhythmic _thump, thump_ the only sound in the room but for their breathing.

Ben’s getting high. The usual tightly-wound ball of thoughts in his head, the never-ending string of _what-ifs_ and _not-good-enoughs_ and _what’s-the-point-anymores_ , is slowly starting to unspool. He can feel himself relaxing, his whole body seeming to soften and warm, and he lets it happen. He might not like the drugs, but he likes the way they make him feel: _Normal. Like I’m normal._ He closes his eyes.

“My dad never kisses me,” Hux says, apropos of nothing, after a few minutes of silence.

Ben opens his eyes. He laughs, at first, without thinking, a loose loopy little laugh — and then he stops, because Hux might be high too, but he’s still serious. He blinks, trying to clear the fog that’s accumulated in his head. “Whaddya mean?” he asks.

Hux waves the hand holding the paltry remains of the joint, his movements almost blurry. “Never kisses me,” he repeats. “He’s never, like, _affectionate_ with me _._ Not like you ‘n your mom.”

“Okay,” Ben says. Hux passes him the blunt, which is really more of a roach by now, and he takes a last hit cause he’s not sure what else to do, and also cause he has some vague idea that maybe it makes him look wise, _thinking-_ like, like Winston Churchill or some shit.

The roach smoulders in his hand. Ben smothers it in the Kleenex, balling it up to catch all the ashes and then burying the whole mess at the bottom of the classroom garbage can. He wasn’t quick enough, though, and the burning paper singed his index finger. Noticing it, he winces, and without thinking puts the finger in his mouth and sucks on it to dull the sting. Hux had been looking at him, and suddenly jerks his gaze away. Ben doesn’t notice.

“He does a thing, though, sometimes,” Hux says, seeming to recall his prior train of thought. “A thing with his forehead. A forehead thing.”

“What are you talking about,” Ben asks very seriously, except he’s not actually sure if it came out serious, because his tongue feels funny, and he’s not sure if it’s communicating with his brain like it’s supposed to. He tries very hard to frown and look concerned, but he’s not entirely sure that’s working either.

“’Stead of kissing me,” Hux explains. “The closest he ever gets is _pressing his forehead right against mine,”_ he intones gravely.

Ben, sitting precariously on the desk with his knees jiggling, starts to understand. Or at least he thinks he does. Maybe. “Oh,” he says, nodding.

“Like this,” Hux says.

And then he’s heaving himself, unsteadily, up from his chair, and he’s stumbling over to the desk Ben’s perched atop, and he’s — he’s leaning up, and he’s pressing his forehead right against Ben’s.

Their heads knock together. Ben gives a little laugh through his nose. He feels like something is going to _happen._ He’s almost too high to know what. It floats around inside his head, just barely out of reach.

Hux looks him right in the eyes, and he waits. _He_ seems to know what’s going on. Ben thinks that’s a little unfair: Hux has an even lower tolerance than he does, and they’ve smoked the same amount, come _on…_

“Intimacy is not your dad’s thing,” Ben pronounces slowly, carefully, trying to muddle through.

Hux is almost comical in his seriousness. “ _This_ is intimate,” he announces.

Up close, Ben can smell his shampoo, citrusy or something beneath the scent of pot. He smells nice. He smells like Hux.

“Intimate,” Ben repeats. His heart is juddering out an unsteady rhythm in his chest. His head is hazy; only Hux is clear. “Yeah.”

“Intimate.”

And then Hux leans down, just the slightest bit, keeping their foreheads pressed together, and he kisses Ben on the lips.

Ben’s smoke-pricked eyes widen in surprise. His brain, suddenly, is lightning-fast to respond, as if he’s all at once sober again. A surprised little voice in his head informs him, _He’s kissing you! He’s kissing you!_

And so Ben kisses him back.

Just for a moment, though, because Hux pulls away.

Ben’s eyes open.

“I’m sorry,” Hux mumbles, looking away from him and shuffling his feet, all previous self-possession vanished into thin air. His pale freckled face is flushing bright pink, like it always does when he’s nervous. Even his ears are red. “I shouldn’t have done that.” His words are slurred, heavy with the drugs, but there’s real anxiety, an apology in his voice.

“Don’t be sorry.” Ben’s heart is pounding. He blinks, a few times, trying to regain some focus. Hux still won’t look at him. He reaches out and taps his shoulder. “Hey,” he says. “Hux.”

“What.” Hux’s voice is muffled: he’s pillowed his head on his arms and is looking pointedly out the window, speaking into the arm of his sweater.

“You can do it again. If you want.”

Hux’s head whips back to him. His green eyes are bloodshot, his pupils wide. “What?”

“You can — kiss me again. If you want to.”

Hux’s lips part. He wipes his hands on his jeans, over and over, and he blinks. “Do you — want me to?”

Ben hesitates for a moment, and then he nods. Twice. “Yeah.”

Hux blinks again, eyes fluttering like a skittish butterfly’s wings. “Okay.”

He comes back over to the desk, shyly, and he takes a little breath, and then he lands his lips on Ben’s again. Cautiously, he opens his mouth, and Ben explores hesitantly with his tongue. Hux tastes like weed and something sweet. His mouth is warm, soft with the sticky, sharp-smelling Blistex he carries in his pocket, smoothing it over his perpetually chapped lips at intervals throughout the day.

Hux’s lips are always chapped, and his hands are always cold, and he’s always a little bit jittery, like he’s expecting to be yelled at for something. (Probably because, at home, he is.) These are some things Ben knows, and has always known, about Hux.

What Ben didn’t know about Hux, though:

He likes to be kissed. By Ben, apparently. He has never kissed anyone else before: Ben knows this for sure. But he likes it. Ben can tell, and anyway, after a few minutes, Hux pulls back, and he says, all wide-eyed and pink-cheeked and murmuring, “I like this,” and now Ben knows that about him, for certain. So he kisses him some more.

What he also didn’t know:

Hux has wanted to be kissed, by Ben, for some time now.

Ben finds this out when they’ve switched places, so now it’s Hux sitting on the desk, with Ben standing in front so that Hux can wrap his skinny legs around Ben’s waist, bringing them even closer together. Ben is kissing softly down his jaw and his neck, making Hux give little gasps of his name, and then in between gasps he says, “Ben — you know I’ve wanted to do this — forever.”

Ben pauses. “You have?”

Hux nods, giving a little shudder when Ben gently kisses his jawline. “I — yeah. A long time. _Oh,”_ he breathes, when Ben tugs at his earlobe with his teeth; and then he adds, insistent, “A _long_ time, Ben. I never thought I’d get to.”

“You could’ve said so,” Ben points out.

Hux gapes. _“What? —_ You mean you would have —?”

Ben nods, surprised at how easily the truth comes out: a truth he’d never before considered, but that he knows, now, to have always been in the back of his mind. “Uh-huh. If you’d asked,” he says. “Asked me to kiss you. I would’ve.”

Hux blinks rapidly, like he always does when he’s surprised, looking like a frightened owl. “But — but would you,” he stammers, “would you have meant it like a _favour?_ Like — like, _no one else is gonna want to kiss you, Hux, so here, I guess I will?”_   he blurts out. “Is that what you’d have done?”

Ben frowns. “No,” he says. “Of course not.” The very thought is absurd to him. _‘Course someone would want to kiss Hux. I do, for one._

“Then how _would_ you’ve meant it?” Hux challenges. He’s unwrapped his legs from Ben’s waist and is swinging his feet under the desk like he’s itching to scuff his shoes on the floor again: back and forth, fast and nervous. “If you didn’t mean it like that.”

“I’d —” Ben pauses, searching for words. He’s _high,_ and he doesn’t know if he could even explain this if he _wasn’t,_ anyway. “Uh. I’d mean it like this,” he says. “Like you mean it. Like — this.”

He leans forward and kisses him again, and he tries to tell him what he means. _Like this._

He pulls back. Hux’s eyes flutter. “Oh,” he says quietly. “Like that. Like you —  _like_ me.”

“Like I like you,” Ben agrees, his heart flipping in his chest. “Because I do.”

Hux blushes. He ducks his head, and twists his fingers in his lap, and murmurs something that Ben can’t hear. He looks back up at Ben and then he looks quickly away, a bashful smile on his face. “Okay,” he says. “I like you, too.”

“I got that,” Ben teases gently. Hux blushes deeper, and Ben smiles. He glances up at the clock, and his face changes — “Shit,” he says. “My mom’s gonna be back soon.”

“Oh, shit,” Hux says. “She is.”

They look at each other.

“Oh well,” says Ben, and he kisses him again.

A gust of cold air wafts in through the window. Hux shivers, and Ben pulls him closer still; they kiss for what seems ages, learning quickly what they like, what they want — but they are all at once interrupted by the brutal shriek of the fire alarm.

They jump back from each other: Hux gasps, wide-eyed, and Ben’s pulse picks up in fright — and then the sprinklers come on.

Ben shouts, and Hux cries _“Shit!”,_ throwing his arms over his head. “What do we do?” he shouts to Ben, and Ben freezes for a second; and then he yells, _“Run!”_

He grabs Hux’s hand and pulls him off the desk, and they race through the empty halls, out to the front doors. Bemused and worried teachers are streaming out of the staff lounge, their meeting interrupted; Hux and Ben sprint past them, hand-in-hand, overwhelmed with laughter. As the building’s occupants congregate in frowning discussion on the front lawn and the wail of sirens is heard getting closer, Hux and Ben tumble to the cold grass and roll around in silent fits, soaked to the skin and hysterical.

“Ben!” Leia’s voice cuts through their laughter. Ben opens his eyes and finds his petite mother looming over them, her hands on her hips. A few of her colleagues peek curiously over her shoulder at them. “What’s so funny, you two? Did you have something to do with this?”

“What?” Hux says innocently, sitting up. He wipes water off his face with his equally damp sleeve, a half-smile still playing on his lips. “Of course not, Mrs. Organa.”

“Yeah,” Ben chips in, fighting not to laugh. “We were just. Y’know. Doing homework.”

“And then the fire alarm went off,” Hux continues. “So we ran.”

“Got wet, though,” Ben interjects mournfully, looking down at his soaked hoodie.

“So I see,” Leia says suspiciously. “What happened to your homework? Where are your bags?”

Ben and Hux exchange a guilty look. “We left them inside,” Hux explains, looking up at Leia. “Every man for himself, and all that.” And then their eyes meet again, and they burst into more laughter, giggling helplessly. Leia stares at them a moment more, and then finally she sighs, rolling her eyes.

“We’ll get them tomorrow. The fire crews will take a while to clean things up tonight,” she says. “I’m already late getting you home, Hux.” She motions to the parking lot, keys already in hand. “Let’s go.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Hux replies cheerily. Leia turns and leads the way to the car, apologising to her colleagues for taking off. Hux and Ben fall into step behind her, still snickering.

In the car on the way home, they hold hands in Ben’s lap, low enough that the rear-view mirror can’t see. Leia’s eyes flick to Ben’s in the mirror, and he smiles at her, feeling buoyed-up and happy, lighter than he has in ages. His mother smiles back. She doesn’t know — and maybe doesn’t _want_ to know — what’s caused such a shift in Ben’s mood; but it’s been so long since he’s smiled like that, that she thinks she’d let anything slide.

They pull up in front of Hux’s as the sun is going down. Ben hops out and walks him to the door, and even though Leia might be watching from the car, or Hux’s dad from inside, Hux pulls Ben close and kisses his lips, just once. Ben flushes all over with heat and happiness.

“Thanks,” Hux says softly. “For — this.”

Ben looks around them, quickly, and then he kisses him again. “Anytime.”

*

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [Lit Up](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7dxGrvSNB6g) by the National, which has absolutely nothing to do with the fic. Thanks to [Mak](http://bygoneboy.tumblr.com) and [Marissa](http://d3ku.tumblr.com) for their input and advice, and to the [Very Merry Kylux team](http://verymerrykylux.tumblr.com/) for organising all of this! xx


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